Need for a Vigilante
by JoeMaya
Summary: A journey of discovery, of uncovering the bitter truths... When you find that everything you have been told, is a lie... What do you do? Do you put your head under your pillow and pray the 'nightmare' gets over? Do you run away? Or do you do something about it? Read to find out.
1. Chapter 1

_If there's something wrong, those who have the ability to take action have the responsibility to take action._

_– Thomas Jefferson_

I used to read a lot before Hogwarts. The library was my primary refuge from Dudley and his "Harry Hunting" gang, and it is no wonder that little by little, the yellowed pages of books and comics -long forgotten in this era of digitization – became a constant in my life.

A vigilante – they called him. He was a protector, the sole knight in shining armor, and they vilified him.

A hundred names can be given to him. The dark knight, spidey, yada yada. He has been there for us. We didn't want him; we were content with the rot in our society. Yet, he fought on.

He fought the good fight, on his terms, and ended up changing the face of the society by his sheer doggedness in not wavering from his mission.

Rot – yes, real rot- not caused by fungus, but by neglect, indifference, a corrupt administration.

I wonder if Riddle was right. I have been fed a daily dose of the "Dumbledore is a great wizard" and "Voldemort killed your parents" propaganda since before I started my first journey on the Hogwarts' Express.

A flash of red and bushy hair was all it took to dumb me down, I guess.

Caught between the both extremes of academic success, I guess I subconsciously stopped my intellectual pursuits overnight.

I stopped thinking for myself, allowing myself to be led, rather than leading. I didn't see the bullshit for what it was, and took pride in not standing out any more than necessary. Why, I even fooled myself into believing the utter tripe about staying away from media or attention that I repeatedly spouted with a ferocity akin the Niagara.

So, why the sudden change, you ask?

Why is little Harry not content to be tame anymore?

Why is he staying awake the night before his 4th year at Hogwarts, and actually digging up old memories, analyzing them?

Something doesn't feel right – there is mischief afoot.

And the stench of a cover-up fills my senses.


	2. Chapter 2

A year back, I discovered that an innocent man had languished in Azkaban for 12 years, that too without a semblance of a trial.

Today, I know about a young man, who was kept under the Imperius curse by his own father, because he had supported a different cause.

I saw a band of men and women respond to a Dark Lord with the same promptness and respect that is commanded by Gods.

No Albus Dumbledore ever had those almost-fanatical gazes cast upon him, ever.

Why do people follow Him?

Why do they worship the ground he walks? (No pun intended, Snape)

Why did they patiently wait for fourteen years, absolute in the belief that their Lord, their salvation, will return?

Hermione will probably have a stroke if she hears such thoughts coming from me.

I am the boy-who-lived-to-have-too-many-hyphens-in-his-name , after all, and of course, the Girl-who-has-her-head-up-her-headmasters-arse will be very interested in running to her authority dildos with the 'Harry has become evil' shite as soon as she can spit.

Seriously, that girl follows authority like a dog follows a bone.

And we all know how competent authority figures can be. During our first year, when we voiced our concerns about the safety of the stone to McGonagall, all she did was, to blow us away with that typical arrogance attributed to grownups who feel that children's words have little weight, and can be ignored with impunity!

I dare say, within these walls, in Dumbledore's stronghold, it will be suicide to even speak aloud my concerns.

I would need to find out the facts from both sides' point of views, in order to make some intelligent deductions, of course.

And _that _is going to be sooo easy!


	3. Chapter 3

"Why do you fight?"

Moody's face showed a flicker of surprise, which vanished immediately, replaced by a cover of indifference so typical of the man.

"Why do you ask?"

Pat came the reply.

I guess he isn't parting with answers if I ask such open ended obvious questions.

"So that I can form an informed opinion"

"Really? You amuse me, Potter. Now why don't you stop beating around and get to your real question"

Hmm..

"Can you tell me anything about the last war? How did it start, what were the aims of both the sides? "

"Do I look like Binns to you, Potter? If you were looking for a History lesson…."

"No. I want to know the unvarnished truth. More than what the school library or the back editions of the Daily Prophet can."

"A man made a discovery, Potter. He found out a fundamental truth"

"And that was the start of a war? I don't believe it. Wasn't there a racist twist to it? I heard that many purebloods were killed…"

"Were they now?"

"Do you know what the current population of Magical Britain is, Potter?"

"A million, perhaps?"

"Close, the actual number is 900000, give or take a few hundred"

"Do you know how many of them are purebloods? I will answer for you – almost 800000"

"So.. if Voldemort killed all those people…"

"Before the war, there were almost 5 million magicals living in Britain, almost 4 million of them were muggleborn"

"And now, it's just a hundred thousand mudbloods?"

"That's all I am saying, Potter. You can find your own answers from now on"


	4. Chapter 4

** Warning ** Death / Gore / Time jump **

* * *

99,999.

That's the number of mudbloods in Britain now.

Hermione's body was found yesterday.

Horribly mutilated, with clear signs of violation across the board.

I force back my nausea. I am the leading investigator in this case. So I cannot let emotions cloud my judgment. Ron shifts uncomfortably beside me.

He had almost begged off the case, but Moody insisted that he be there to watch my back.

I am almost grateful to Moody. Almost.

I really don't need a shit scared Ron pissing his pants all over my crime scene though.

He seems quite relieved when I tell him to go on home, as I do a last clean up of the scene.

Hermione and I were not that close anymore.

After Hogwarts, we had kind of drifted apart.

She took on a position of lead campaigner for magical creatures, elf and muggleborn rights at an NGO run by a pair of squibs.

I and Ron enrolled for the Auror's program.

We were a society perpetually at a cold civil war, and all hands were welcome.

I carefully chalk the position of the body, and prepare myself to collect samples for the lab. After swabbing her anal and vaginal tracts and scanning under her fingernails for any tissue, I stoop and point my wand at her forehead.

"Cerebrum Revelio", I intone in a soft voice.

A 3D map of her brain shows up in front of me.

I carefully take note of the green and yellow colors highlighting the Medulla oblongata, and the evident trauma in her Cerebellum, which showed up in an angry red.

A bit of blackish hue covers the base, and piques my interest.

Taking out the detection ring, I focus on the base of her skull.

It takes quite a few rounds of revealing spells, but I finally isolate the blackness.

It looks to be some spell residue.

The base of the skull is where our magic control location is, according to experts at Mungos.

The only way there can be magical trauma residue here would be if some mind magic was used – of the Obliviation sort.

I work feverishly to filter and refine the scans as fast as possible. It's already 4 am, and any spell residue will vanish as soon as the sun rises.

There! Got a magical signature. It's clear, and still intact.

I immediately transfer its image to my wand's database, and finally get up from the ground.

There is a lot of work to be done now.

Her family needs to be notified, and I am sure Ron will not agree to go along with me on _that _mission.

Oh, and I need to get some sleep before I can start analyzing the data and running scans in our department database against the magical signature.

Grieving will just have to come later, much later.

Signaling the Mungos healers to go ahead with the body bagging, I apparate home.


	5. Chapter 5

"Please state your name, and purpose of visit"

"Harry Potter, Auror"

"Thank you, Auror Potter. Your login time has been recorded. Have a pleasant day.."

I half heartedly listened to the 'Lift Lady' – as me and Ron had dubbed her, as she droned on about the Ministry, its layout and directions for the visitor. Within a week of joining the Auror Corps, we had got to know that the 'Lift Lady' was actually a facsimile of the dear departed Delores Umbridge. She had petitioned and got Fudge to finally admit that the Ministry seriously needed a Welcome-Witch.

Of course, then she had gone ahead and put forward her sweet melodious voice to be incorporated in the spell as well. Thankfully, it is not Rita Skeeter's nasal sweet nothings that assault our ears every morning.

"Level – 1, Auror Department"

I step into the usual Friday morning sluggishness – the one thing that I hate about my department. The lights are on in 3 cabins – someone's been putting all nighters. Moody's door is wide open, so I head in to debrief him on last night's investigation.

For some reason, I skipped the part about the spell residue. Call it premonition or intuition, but I am quite over-protective about my finds.

Someone had kept a fire running in Ron's cabin down the hall. He must have come in pretty early today. Maybe he's feeling guilty about running on me last night; maybe he has had a nightmare or two. I wish it was spiders, lots of spiders. He really does need to learn to separate personal and professional lives. In our field, it doesn't pay to wear your heart on your sleeves. Neither is it proper to leave your partner to clean up the mess, alone.

I press my wand to the door of the Research room, and whisper the password. It changes hourly, and is only notified to the Lead investigating officers of a case through a variation of the protean charm, much more advanced than the DA coins that Hermione had come up with at Hogwarts. I clamp down on my emotions as her name evokes a feeling of emptiness somewhere inside. This is neither the time, nor the place to grieve. Her killer is on the loose, and I need to buck up, analyze my info, and get back on the field before the trail dries up.

The 'Merlinaton-1001' is a colossal machine. Built with a combination of magical and muggle technology, it's the latest of its kind. Take DNA profiling, finger print analysis, the works – it is a one stop biometric system that was created by the Unspeakables a few years back. I punch in my auth code, and transfer the magical signature from my wand to the receptacle. Within a few minutes, the machine is busy running the necessary checks needed to establish the identity of the killer.

"Figured I would find you here" a muttered rasp sounded close to my ear.

Ron. Standing there, shuffling his feet. His hair is uncombed, and he looks like he slept in his work robes last night.

"You look like shit, mate"

"Well, you aren't smelling roses either"

"So, found something?"

"Yeah, running it by Merlin here. Hopefully we can get a solid lead from this" I said, a yawn escaping.

"How long will it take?"

"Maybe an hour or so, give or take a few – want to go grab some coffee?"

I lock the door and head back down to the lift. The café is downstairs, by the Atrium. Ron will meet me there after he clears a few things with Moody. In no mood to hear Umbitch's voice again, I whisper a muffliato, and feel relative peace wash over me. Ah, silence – how I covet it nowadays. During school-days, I had very few friends. All were either in awe of the Boy-who-lived hype, or were rooting for Voldemort. Once Ron and Hermione started dating during sixth year, I ensconced myself among my books, or retreated to a corner of the grounds near the forbidden forest.

Solitude suited me just fine. It still does. I mean, I hate people, period. Most would like to either get a photo with me, or boast of getting the prized catch.

A shadow fell in step with me. My face twisted from the pleasant visage to a grimace.

Lucius Malfoy. Fancies himself as Chief Advisor to Fudge. Reportedly one of the top lieutenants of the Dark Side.

"A little early in the day, Mister Malfoy?" – no one said I couldn't be polite.

"Just passing by, Mr. Potter "

"Don't let the doors hit you on your way out"

He sneers and sweeps down the corridor.

Rushing steps behind me make me stop. Turning around, I find a breathless Ron clutching at his sides.

"Harry! The machine's stopped suddenly – the evidence receptacle is empty"


	6. Chapter 6

Silence.

Only Moody's boots make some noise on the carpeted floor.

Ron is looking anywhere but at me, and I appreciate it. I knew, not mentioning the signature during the debriefing was a mistake; a breach of protocol, even. Fifty years of putting hostiles where they belong (Azkaban) does make you seem taller, especially when your opponent is a subordinate caught red handed withholding crucial information about a case. Hermione Granger's case had the potential of attracting tremendous media attention, not to mention the scrutiny by our Muggle Counterparts at the Crime Branch.

It turns out she had connections at high places. Her parents had been pioneers in the field of radiology and its applications, and had run a highly lucrative surgery in London. Their clients included the Royal family, a few army Generals, and some Indian Prince of an erstwhile Princely State. Condolences and well wishers in person had almost inundated our office since mid day, and we had spent more time in crowd control than on the case at hand.

"What were you thinking, Potter?"

Straight to the point. Doesn't beat around the bush at all, Moody. And one Harry Potter is left to justify his hunch.

"It just seemed too good to be true, Sir. The killer would have swept her for traces. And professionals are rarely this sloppy. I just wanted the find to be verified, before I presented it to everyone"

"Hmm. I understand your reasoning, Potter. But you should have at least informed Weasley. He is your Partner for Merlin's sake. What if you were killed, or lost your memory? How would the case go on?"

I tried to look appropriately contrite. Inside, I was raging at Ron, for snitching on me. I realize that the urgent 'talk' he wanted to have with Moody earlier was about the test I had started running on the Merlinaton. Moody would have naturally asked the details about the analysis being done, and that had nailed me. Even if the theft had not occurred, I was royally screwed as soon as Ronald Weasley stepped into the lab today.

Sometimes, I wonder what life would have been like, without Ron by my side. Would I have made another best friend? Neville? Seamus? Dean, perhaps? It's all water under the bridge now, but the fact is, I am stuck with a friend who will stick by me only during the best of times, and ditch me when the stakes are high.

"So, Potter… got any plans for tonight?"

Moody asking me out. Oh joy. Says something about my social life, that.

"Not really. Now that we don't have the one clue that could have helped us, I have another field day ahead of me tomorrow. Got to ask around. Maybe question a few of her neighbors"

"Okay. I will inform Felicity to put together a kit for you"

"Don't bother. I know her place. Haven't been there in months, but being a best friend got to count for something, at least, right?"

"You two were real close at school, sorry I forgot. Get some rest son"

"Don't die on me, old man, Gnite"

With a loud 'pop', I apparate to my 2 bedroom modest flat. Some complicated twists of my wand disable the numerous wards and traps laid out all over the place. It isn't much, but it's the safest place that I can call 'Home', now that the Dursleys' place is off limits.

I got this place after I got my first paycheck. Crashing out at the Weasley's was fun, yes, but Molly's excessive mothering and Ginny's wistful glances can drive any red blooded male crazy. They probably don't realize, but both of them combined can make a man long for some good old male bonding over a beer or two down at the Leaky. After the first night at the Burrow, I really started sympathizing with Bill and Charlie for moving out when they got jobs – overseas.

My room appears quite clean by my standards. Hmm... not that I am complaining, but there really shouldn't have been anyone in my house today.

A tug at my robes and a squeaky voice confirm my suspicions.

"Harry Potter Sir! Dobby is glad to find you home. Dobby has waited too long, and feared that Sir wouldn't come home tonight"

Ah Dobby. He is one the many assets I have in place at known Death Eater locations. House elf assets. Hermione would have an aneurism if she found out that there are over a hundred of these little creatures reporting to me at any time of the month if I need some serious info. Dobby and I had met during my second year at Hogwarts. He had tried to stop me from going to school, and would have succeeded too, if not for Arthur's enchanted car. After the whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco was over, surprisingly, Dobby had stopped me from freeing him by means of an old sock. He had instead proposed a daring plan – to betray his master, and try to recruit more elves for the cause.

Since then, for a measly 1 galleon salary, he passed on as much info as possible without risking his cover. He withstood tremendous pain for this, and I only ever saw his hands full of bandages for cuts, burns, and even spell damage.

"Dobby. Good to see you. Have you got something for me?"

"Yes, Harry Potter Sir. Dobby's master came home early today morning after his meeting with the Minister of Magic. He had a glowing sphere in his robe pockets, which he placed in our high security vaults post haste"

"Was it a White Glow, Dobby? With golden strands in between?" I asked, my pulse quickening with every word I spoke.

"Yes, Harry Potter Sir"

"Thanks a lot Dobby. You have a done a great service to the Auror Department today. Please keep up your activities, and don't be surprised to see me drop by at the Manor soon"

"Dobby will go now, Harry Potter Sir. Good night"

As soon as the pop of Dobby's own brand of apparition faded away, I rush towards the fireplace.

"Auror Headquarters, Moody's Office" was all it took for my head to swirl through a thousand grates, until I am staring at the business end of Moody's wand.

"So soon, Potter? You want to take me up on that dinner offer after all?"

"Afraid not, Sir. Got some info on the whereabouts of our missing clue"

"Well, spit it out"

"It's at Malfoy Manor"


End file.
